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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368151">Steadfast</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist'>TheArchaeologist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Prostitution, Romance, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Swearing, just soft boys all around, not an ounce of hurt/comfort from me that's a first</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,276</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25368151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchaeologist/pseuds/TheArchaeologist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt is a man who is very much not on the market, though that does not seem to stop people from trying.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>361</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Steadfast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even in the darkness of heavy night, the castle casts an imposing shadow over the city, looming high and dominating above the wooden roofs of the far humbler establishments. The windows, some narrowed for archers, some wide for waltzing nobles to gaze out longingly, glow with the amber light of torches, filtering through the slits and glass like sharp, observant eyes, watching all beyond its fortress keep, spying for the slightest hint of treason. </p>
<p>Geralt ignores it, leaning against the circle of high walls which surround the castle and effectively secure those with the preferred lineage inside, those whose bloodlines are lost and muddled to the realms of history kept firmly out. His focus is primarily on the large gates, giant things made of thick wood lined with hardened metal, the only known access into the grounds of the King, though Geralt has every suspicion that below ground, there is a maze of tunnels and secret passageways perfect for a sudden and unfavourable retreat. Every castle has them, however finding them is an art all on its own.</p>
<p>Several hours before, these gates were open, sucking in a parade of men and women dressed in their rich regalia, bright colours dazzling and gleaming jewellery catching every inch of light, a slicing contrast to the dull browns worn by the city folk and the children who huddle on street corners, holding out their hands to anyone who happens to be passing in the hopes for coin for food. </p>
<p>Now, the gates are firmly closed, locked to all those who might chance a peek.</p>
<p>A roar of noise bellows from within the castle, and Geralt briefly turns his head towards it, listening to the distant sound hands clapping, voices cheering, feet stamping on flagstone floors.</p>
<p>He waits.</p>
<p>The little nook he has found himself means he goes unnoticed, both by the guards who march along every half hour, and the whores wandering up and down in the hopes of coaxing said guards away, keeping him hidden from the periodic glow of the moon as it shifts in and out of sight.</p>
<p>Glancing up, Geralt critically eyes the drifting clouds blotting the sky. Although it may not seem like it now, the air a pleasant shade of warm and the earth below him bone dry, there are rains on the way, heavy ones if the gossip overheard at the inn was anything to go by, set to arrive at some point in the early hours.</p>
<p>With an evening free to himself, Geralt has spent it going through their bags, picking out everything delicate to foul weather and wrapping them tightly in bounds of cloth or his old shirts, tucking them deep into his saddlebags where hopefully they will remain protected from the poor weather. Things like his potions bottles are usually fine, the glass sliding water straight off, however Geralt also makes a habit of carrying the ingredients for more on his person, trying to save off being left without, and some of those will rot very quickly should they be left to damped and fester.</p>
<p>They leave first thing tomorrow morning, probably not too long after first light hits. It never pays to spend too long in cities, especially ones where discontent breeds as fast as rats, stuck in the shade as a single, boastful flower soaks up every drop of sunlight.</p>
<p>Rats will eat anything if they are hungry enough.</p>
<p>“Need company?” A saccharine voice asks, and Geralt sighs and sets his jaw, glancing over at the painted face gazing up at him, unfamiliar brown eyes widening when they meet gold.</p>
<p>So much for being discreet.</p>
<p>“No.” He grunts roughly, crossing his arms over his chest. </p>
<p>To the woman’s credit, she recovers quickly from her shock, the rouge emphasising her lips as they tug up into a disbelieving smirk. “Are you sure about that? I can’t imagine it’s all that pleasurable hanging around out here by yourself.” She nods towards the muted sound of the celebrating crowd, her hands folded carefully in front of her. “If you’re waiting for his sour-faced majesty, then don’t expect to be let in anytime soon. It’s his daughter’s wedding feast, invite only, nothing suitable for us common folk to look at, I assure you.”</p>
<p>“I have no interest at being let in.” Geralt rumbles.</p>
<p>“Oh?” She raises her eyebrows. “So, do you make a habit of mysteriously lurking around castle gates, then? Maybe I should call for the guard.”</p>
<p>Shifting his stance, Geralt regards her for a moment, taking in the shredded shawl wrapped tightly around her shoulders and the dirt clinging to the bottom of her dress. One of her sleeves has been torn at some point, and clumsy sewing skills have knitted it back together again, the cross-cross stitching clear to his advanced eyes.</p>
<p>She notices his observations, saying nothing but tilting her head in a way that gets a huff out of him, shuffling a little against the wall to dislodge an edge of a stone digging into his back.</p>
<p>He hums, “Only I don’t think you plan to do that, do you?”</p>
<p>Sighing, caught, the woman slouches against the wall next to him, rearranging her skirts around her legs. Distain drips into her tone. “The guard master is a pillock who’d sooner see my head on an iron spike than his own. He calls me a <em>wretched beast</em> hell bound on luring his innocent new recruits away. Yet if they were so innocent, my coin pouch would not be as heavy at the end of the night, and I wouldn’t have hiding spots along their walls.”</p>
<p>“So, that’s how you found me.”</p>
<p>“Know where to look, and fruit will bloom.”</p>
<p>Geralt makes a tuneless noise, listening to yet another indistinguishable roar of people from within the castle. Layers of brick and stone muffle it, making the sound too quiet for even him to hear properly, mutations be damned. The woman notices, following his gaze before pinching her lips.</p>
<p>“Sore because you’ve been left out?”</p>
<p>He glances at her from the corner of his eye, then turns away. “I am simply waiting for the party to end.”</p>
<p>“Oh, good luck, the guests will be going for the long haul.” She says, adjusting the long strands of her hair from where they sit in a messed bun, before adding, bemused, “While the usual forms of entertainment will call it a day around midnight or just after, there are other ways to have fun which don’t require music.”</p>
<p>“Good thing I’m not waiting for a guest, then.”</p>
<p>That catches the woman’s attention. “No? I thought even someone as monstrous as you might have a few adventurous maidens hanging from his arm. Not waiting for your summons to bed?”</p>
<p>“Not at all.”</p>
<p>“Huh. You surprise me, Witcher. I did wonder if by approaching you, I was signing myself up to be hoisted over the shoulder and never seen again.”</p>
<p>“Then why did you approach?”</p>
<p>“Word gets around.” She says breezily, faffing with her hair again before ultimately deciding to just pull it down entirely, letting it wave down her neck. “You were paid by a Redanian noble not two weeks ago and considering the prices they’ve paid for me in the past, I doubt you’ve wasted all your coin yet. Some things are worth the risk.” Catching his eye, she smirks, seductive and confident. “And a bit of danger is enjoyable, now and then.”</p>
<p>Geralt returns her expression with a small helping of his own amusement. “Well, I shall put the good lady’s mind at ease. I’m a taken man. I have no interest in kidnapping.”</p>
<p>“I see. All the pity for me then, I guess, I shall have to seek my living elsewhere.”</p>
<p>“Not expecting an <em>innocent</em> young man to come by?”</p>
<p>“No, it seems that, for tonight at least, I have been abandoned.” Pushing off the wall, she makes to head off, though pauses for a moment to set her hands on her hips. “If they run late it’s their own fault. I waited, after all. Hopefully, the shock of their consolation prize will not be too much to handle.”</p>
<p>“And I’ll give them the same answer I gave you.”</p>
<p>The woman laughs heartily at that, her shawl dipping just off her shoulder. As she does, the gates finally open with a creaking, heavy groan, and a lone figure walks out, adjusting a feathered hat on their heat and carrying the familiar shape of a lute case over their back.</p>
<p>Geralt straightens instantly. “Jaskier.”</p>
<p>The bard jumps slightly at the sound of his voice, flashing a bright smile his way. “Geralt!” His eyes drift towards the woman, and he continues, with less enthusiasm, “And company.”</p>
<p>Ignoring the comment, Geralt strides over, taking in the subtle scent of wine clinging to Jaskier’s clothes and breath. “How was it?”</p>
<p>“Oh, the usual. A lot of diplomatic lip-service, brawls, arguments, people making out in the corner who probably shouldn’t be making out. I nearly lost my hat to the groom.” Jaskier puffs a breath of air up his face, making the feather bounce. Closing the gap between them, the bard loops his arms around Geralt’s waist, tugging them close with a bit more force than necessary. “Not much to report on, considering. No floating maidens or hedgehogs, at the very least.”</p>
<p>“You’ve been drinking.”</p>
<p>Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I had two glasses, Geralt, because the host offered them to me and he’s a King. I only had water after that.”</p>
<p>“Hm.”</p>
<p>“<em>Hm</em>.” Jaskier mimics pointedly, peering around Geralt’s shoulder to narrow his eyes at the woman.</p>
<p>She tuts, chastising, “Don’t look at me like that. He’s been the perfect gentleman.”</p>
<p>Jaskier snorts, the slight tenseness to his spine loosening. “I should think so, too, considering he knows what I’d chop off if he wasn’t!”</p>
<p>“Do it a bathtub.” The woman advices, as if bestowing sagely wisdom. “Those kinds of injuries tend to bleed a lot. It makes the clean up far easier to handle.”</p>
<p>“Words of experience?”</p>
<p>“I’m not going to give up everything I know.”</p>
<p>“We’re leaving.” Geralt decides before any other unwelcome ideas can be set into the bard’s head.</p>
<p>The two protest, their eyes now only filled with rising glee at their shared sense of mischief.</p>
<p>“Now, don’t be a sourpuss.”</p>
<p>“You’re being such a grouchy Witcher tonight!”</p>
<p>“These are trade secrets for all partners of grumbling men; I have to tell him.”</p>
<p>“It’d be unfair, otherwise.”</p>
<p>“Would you rather he guesses and botch the job?”</p>
<p>Their giggles duet together, and Geralt growls without fire, wrapping an arm around Jaskier’s shoulders. He spares a brief nod at the woman, who tuts good-naturedly, and then sets them off at a marching pace, guiding the bard back in the direction of the inn.</p>
<p>Jaskier twists to wave, then settles in step with him, adjusting his lute. The feather on his hat bobs about.</p>
<p>For a few minutes, they simply walk in silence, the smell of sweat and heat and alcohol brushing against Geralt’s nose. It overpowers the general stink of filth and horseshit that comes with cities, mixing with the lighter notes of Jaskier’s lavender soap and flowery oils, the ones he saw the bard dab under his jawline just before he set off for the feast.</p>
<p>As the moon peers out from behind the clouds again, he notices Jaskier’s cheeks are flushed, still cooling from the excitement of performance. To anyone else it would be too dark for them to see, however for Geralt it is as clear as day, a sign of how hard his partner has been working tonight to bring in his own share of decent coin.</p>
<p>“It’s unfair you get all the big jobs.” He had complained not long after the Redania affair that involved two griffins and a pack of ghouls, sprawled out across the bed while Geralt soaked in the tub. “I should be earning more as well. At the moment it feels terribly lopsided on your part.”</p>
<p>In Geralt’s opinion this is a ridiculous notion, considering that while Jaskier’s typical payments are usually lower than his, he brings it in more often, balancing out Geralt’s single, large payments with numerous small.</p>
<p>The bard beneath his arm hums quietly, nudging closer as if to save off the non-existent cold. “Um.” He starts, and then stops, trying again, his fingers fiddling anxiously with his lute strap, “If…If you didn’t want to be the perfect gentleman, I’d understand. I wouldn’t…It’s not like I can’t see how-”</p>
<p>“No.” Geralt interjects firmly, squeezing Jaskier’s shoulder.</p>
<p>“But-”</p>
<p>“I’m not like that, Jaskier.” Meeting the shining blue eyes that glimpse up at him with a small level of unsure apprehension, Geralt stops, facing him fully.</p>
<p>Jaskier swallows, warm breath tickling against his chin. “I know. I just…I want you to be happy, so if-”</p>
<p>Geralt presses their lips together.</p>
<p>There is nothing heated within it, no pulsing lust that sends their blood boiling, or rushes of overpowering desire that feed into a whole host of sinful delights. Instead, there is just simplicity, a softness, the feeling of home and gentle comfort, the sensation of being completely and utterly safe in the presence of another person.</p>
<p>There is just love.</p>
<p>“O-Oh.” Is all Jaskier can manage when they pull away, blinking several times. “Right, then. Well.”</p>
<p>Geralt smiles.</p>
<p>Their heads dip in for a second time, and, slowly, they melt into each other, Jaskier’s hand gently rising to cup the back of Geralt’s head, keeping him there as he trails his fingers through the silver locks bathed in the brief shine of moonlight.</p>
<p>It is everything, and more.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Previously titled: Geralt picks his boyfriend up from work</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <a href="https://ancientstone.tumblr.com/">Tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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